Read Cinder's Wolf: A Shifter Retelling of Cinderella (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 2) for Free Online

the time they reached Lucille’s own master bedroom, Cynthia was feeling practically giddy. Reagan was even shooting her congratulatory, if snarky, glances. Lucille’s arms were crossed, the only sound the muffled tapping of her foot against the regal blue carpet.
    Finally, she spoke. “You did a fair job, Cynthia,” she said.
    “Thank you.”
    “However,” her puffy lips turned down into an almost-sincere frown, “I don’t think you’ll be able to come with us.”
    “What?” both Cynthia and Reagan said at once. Reagan actually sounded more annoyed than she did.
    Lucille pursed her lips. “Well, she has nothing to wear.”
    “I have a dress,” Cynthia said, almost bored with the protest. The thought of her not having a ball gown was as ridiculous as Lucille’s hair-do. She had almost majored in fashion design, for God’s sake.
    “Oh, not the dress, but the mask,” Lucille said. “We forgot to get you one at Fantastique, and I’m afraid all of the proper stores are closed for the night.”
    Cynthia winced. As much as she hated the fact that New York had gotten hipster-y enough that there really was a high-end shop selling only animal masquerade masks, she hated more that it was only open three hours a day. What kind of business model was that? Worse, Lucille was right; she didn’t have a black-tie appropriate mask that “represented her inner beast” just lying around.
    “That is ridiculously unfair,” Reagan said. “You saw the job she did here, Mom.” A bit of her old New Jersey accent slipped through the upper-crust drawl she had adopted in her years in Manhattan.
    Lucille’s frown morphed into a full-on scowl at the sound of their roots showing. “Reagan,” she chided. “You’re the one who set up this little bargain.”
    Reagan, who never had the same level of control Cynthia did, pressed her palm into her forehead. “Holy fucking hell.”
    “Reagan Amelia Cinders-Miller.” Lucille rattled off each of Reagan’s names with more venom than most people gave a curse word. “I will not have you speak to me like that. Leave the room. Now!”
    Reagan stomped off like a thirteen-year-old instead of the twenty-five-year-old she was.
    Lucille brandished her same sour glare at Cynthia. “You too.”
    Cynthia smiled wanly before exiting to the stairs. Her mind wasn’t present. Plans whirled through her head as she decided what would be the best way to infiltrate the party sans invitation and mask, while managing to avoid the host. It wouldn’t be easy.
    She got halfway down the stairs when she ran into Reagan and Christine, both looking sheepish. Although that might have just been Christine’s default expression. The girl was an enigma.
    “You going to move, or have you decided to sleep on the staircase tonight?” Cynthia quipped, not having the energy to devote to a conversation with her step-sisters.
    “Cynthia,” Reagan started.
    “Oh no.” Cynthia held up a hand. “I’m not in the mood for an apology. Because of you, I’m going to have to MacGyver my way into a ball tonight.”
    “Cynthia, if you’ll just listen—” Reagan said, louder this time. Christine retreated back a step at the change.
    “Seriously, just let me go to my room.” Cynthia nudged Reagan with her shoulder, trying to make space.
    Reagan took that as the opportunity to grab Cynthia’s upper arm. The girl had a lot more strength than her skinny body suggested, probably from years of fights in Jersey’s less than stellar public school system.
    Reagan pried open Cynthia’s tight fist and thrust a slip of paper into her hand. “This is for you.”
    It was an invitation. With her name on it.
    “Oh,” Cynthia said.
    “I called Rose and had her make an extra invitation off the books.” Reagan frowned. “You should’ve reminded me you were looking for investors. I can’t believe you actually cleaned the whole house. My stupid boy issues and toddler temper tantrums are not worth ruining your